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li^rrY RHYMES 



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JACK M. HARRINGTON 




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Ci)FinRIGIlT DEPOSm 



THIRTY RHYMES 

BY 

JACK M. HARRINGTON 






JUL !9 i9!0 



©CI.A499787 



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TO 

L. E. J. 

THESE 
FOR REMEMBRANCE 



INTRODUCTION 



These rhymes had their origin, for the most part, 
in the Irish Rebellion of E?ster week, 1916. The 
heroic deeds performed by many of the participants 
and the unselfish and patriotic motives which moved 
these noble souls to grasp the sword in freedom's 
holy cause fired the im.agination of our author with 
the same spirit that imbued Pearse, McDonough, 
Plunket, Kent, Casement and a host of others. Their 
publication is largely due to Mr. James Moore Stack 
of Philadelphia, a schoolmate of the author and him 
self a brother of one victim of the Rebellion, Austin 
Stack. 

The rhymes were written in Chicago, publication 
arranged for in Philadelphia and printed in Fort 
Worth, Texas — a shamrock of ideas. This introduc- 
tion was written on June 5th, a date full of mem- 
ories for all Americans. Each of the three persons re- 
sponsible for this publication registered for military 
service on that date. Ere this book of rhymes is out 
of the press the career of all three will no doubt 
have vastly changed. Let us hope Providence will 
spare the author for further efforts in poesy when 
the sword which has now been drawn in defense of 
American and Irish ideals will have been sheathed 
in glory. 

DONAL O'CONNOR. 
Fort Worth, June 5, 1917. 



Rhyme The First 

Methinks a weary star 

From some far sky 
Found a velvet couch 

In Thine eye. 
And finding slumber 

There so sweet, it seems, 
Has never cared to waken 

From its dreams. 

Methinks a slender reed 

From some pond pale, 
Where Pan at twilight danced 

Adown the dale, 
Took root and grew anew 

In Thy frail throat 
And thrills and fills me now 

With its note. 



Rhyme The Second 

Rose! Rose! 

Does the timid breeze that blows 

From out the tropic south 

Ever kiss you on the mouth 

And say, I love you so 

And as I blow and go 

Wooded hills to roam 

I shall call your heart my home; 

Does it, Rose? 

Rose! Rose! 

Does the mellow rain that sows 

Silver tears upon your cheek 

Ever sadly speak 

Of a love that has no part 

Or no corner of its heart, 

Or does it sigh and moan 

For the warmth and bliss of home; 
Does it, Rose? 



Rhyme The Third 

Love! Love! let us wander far, 

Where the silken harebells are. 

Let us wander, hand in hand, 
Over broad and emerald land, 

Thinking as we go 

That the fragrant breezes blow 

For us alone. 

Love, Love! let us listen to the notes 
Of the skylark as he floats 

Unseen through the haze 

That girds the hilly ways 

Thinking he is there 

With his song to ensnare 

Our souls alone. 



Rhyme The Fourth 

Dear friend of youthful yesterday, oft 

Do I find my thoughts turning to where Thou art. 

And oft do I find a longing to see Thee 

Creeping into my heart. 

Full well I know the first hand to kindle 

The fire of passion in me was Thine; 

Just as Thy spirit first held 

A soothing influence over mine. 

It was Thee, and Thee alone, nursed into life 

All that is good in my soul; 

And of budding life and hope and ambition 

Thou wer't the whole. 

Thou wer't all; love, friendship, joy 

And sorrow to me. 

Now, when I dream of heaven, 

It is but to dream of Thee. 



Rhyme The Fifth 

I never knew it was true 

That Angels came to earth 
From God's own throne to fill the home 

Of man with joy and mirth. 
I never knew it was true 

They had such charms divine; 
Until I saw, with longing awe, 

Your eyes look into mine. 

I never knew it was true 

That Angels from above 
Could steal away, without dismay, 

A lowly mortal's love. 
I never knew it was true 

They could be so unkind, 
To rob a heart of its richest part 

And leave the heart behind. 



Rhyme The Sixth 

I would not like Thee to a rose — 
A rose is vain and proud 

And flings its fragrance to the breeze 
So it may sing its praises loud. 

I would like Thee to a violet; 

A violet hides its head 
And blushingly still breathes a smile 

Tho' all its fragrance sweet is fled. 



Rhyme The Seventh 

When you sing I feel 

The world and all its woes fading from view 

Until nothing is left 

But one clear vision of you. 

I see you stand 

On the threshold of a wondrous land; 

Where Angels flit to 

And fro upon the velvet sod; 

That stretches onward and above 

To the mystic Throne of God, 

To God, because my God is Love. 



Rhyme The Eighth 

Sunset; and dreams 
Beloved of Thee 

Clinging to each breeze 
That kisses me. 

Twilight; and shadows 
Lingering as they pass 

To picture Thy fair face 
Upon the grass. 

Night-time; and stars 
Longing to rejoice 

At the first sweet echo 
Of Thy voice. 



Rhyme The Ninth 

Far on Kilkenny's sacred plain, 

Where memory dwells on men who strove 
To free their country from its chains, 

They've made a grave for one I love. 

And sweet it is for her to sleep 

With shamrock pillowed o'er her head. 

The sorrow is for us who mourn 
In loneliness since she is fled. 

The fairies with a nimble foot 

Will dance and gambol thro' each grove, 
But never will they break the sleep 

Nor mar the rest of one I love. 

To Thee, Oh, Ireland! famished land 
Of sterile hope and pregnant pain. 

My thoughts will turn to be with her, 
And wandering will turn back again. 

For friendship has a soul that lives 

Beyond the tomb, beyond the years. 

A soul from which all erring sins 

Are washed away by sorrow's tears. 



Rhyme The Tenth 

It was June time and 

The roses had begun 
To nod their perfumed heads 

In honor of the summer sun. 
I plucked one and held it to my lips 

To enhale its fragrance — 
But alas! a thorn on its stem 

Pierced my cheek like a lance. 



Rhyme The Eleventh 

Through the long, long night 

By the bright fire's light 

I sit and dream away 

The hours as thej^ unfold; 

Mid spirits in numbers untold 

Whose voices seem to say: 

An exile, an exile, for evermore, 

You can never go back 

To love's golden shore. 

So make up your mind 

To fret and pine 

Life away for the land 

You have left behind; 

It is gone — 

It is gone for evermore. 



Rhyme The Twelfth 

" 'Tis better to have loved and lost 
Than never to have loved at all." 

And some men rave in wrathful strain 
That life is love or else a bore; 

They crush the! grape to drink the wine 
And drinking fain would thirst no more. 

Other mortals poor in gain 

Of thoughts that elevate the mind, 
Would have us know that ere love goes 

It leaves its kin — regret — behind. 

It is not so, for love is kind, 

And lingers with us through the years; 
And as the rose with summer dew 

Is freshened by our lonely tears. 

For hearts that grieve are hearts that love 
In every land from sea to sea; 

And when love comes it bears the torch 

That lights us through eternity. 



Rhyme The Thirteenth 

If all the world were a garden, 
And each maiden a rosebud fair, 

If I had nought to do with life 
But pass it in solitude there; 

I'd seek out where you bloomed 
And 'neath that favored bower, 

Vd lay me down to dream of you 
Each new and fleeting hour. 



Rhyme The Fourteenth 

I bring- you a flower; 
Not a g^arland, but one; 
A rose whose sweet petals 
Reflect the tints of the setting- sun. 
I ask you to keep it always 
And let its fragrance be shed 
In bringing dreams of hours 
That still are sweet tho' fled. 



Rhyme The Fifteenth 

I wish you more of happiness 

Into each day sown; 

More of health, more of wealth, 

Than I have ever known. 

I wish you a depth of joy and power 

That still remain unwon, 

On fair Olympia's fabled vales, 

By Rhea's Godly Son. 

But what could I wish you, 

On this your wedding day, 

Better than your heart may be 

Filled with love alway? 

Love for honor, love for truth, 

Love for each kindly gift of Fate; 

Love for friendship, love for home, 

Love for everything but hate. 



Rhyme The Sixteenth 

Fair Kathleen-Ni-Houlihan, 

Shrill from oppression's pain, 
Thy voice rang out across the hills 

And men reached for the sword again; 
To still the cry that pierced their hearts 

And reached to God's own throne; 
Tho' rust of years had dulled the blade 

They struck deep for love and home. 
An hundred and twelve years had fled 

Since Emmet gladly gave 
His life, his love and cherished hopes; 

All! for a martyr's grave. 
An hundred years and twelve, Kathleen, 

But still his hallowed fame 
Inspired thy brave stalwart sons 

To die for thy fair name. 
And who shall call the cause unjust 

Or say that they have died in vain! 
They tore the mask from inward strife 

And waked a land to deeds again. 
For he who dreams of freedom's crown 

Must win it by his sword and hand; 
And by our deeds alone shall we 

Make thee a free and happy land. 



Rhyme The Seventeenth 

AUSTIN STACK 

Dark is the way and winding is the path 

Which you must tread. 

A trail bedewed by the blood 

Of clansmen dead 

Upon the battlefield or gallows tree; 

But they will hold 

A light aloft so you may be 

Guided when your footsteps falter 

On the sunless path 

That leads to freedom's sacred altar. 

Dark is the way and lonely is the road; 

For none but those of courage bold 

May win, and hold, 

The white robed bride who waits 

At the guarded gates 

Of Liberty or Death. 



TO PEARSE 

Falsehood, ridicule, derision must sink 

Their poisoned blades 

Into the new born heart of all great movements 

That are to sway the destiny of a nation 

Or a people. And from the gaping wounds 

Gush forth little streams of blood 

That give life to stronger emotions; 

Emotions that sweep onward 

To consummation and success. 

So, Pearse, it is with you. 

The weakling, the fool and slave of custom 

Today call you mad. The paid patriot, 

Hungry only for vain glory. 

And licking clean the hand 

Stained with his brother's blood; 

Scorns your deeds as wrecking only 

Hopes of freedom. But tomorrow; 

When men understand, and the world 

Is richer for your being and your death, 

When the cassock and the hireling 

Have fled the Isle that gave you birth; 

Posterity will link your name 

With that of Lincoln. 

The battles of your race have been fought 

And won by alien shores 

For stranger people. Pew of Irene's sons 

Sobbed out their bitter lives 

Upon the soil dear to their hearts; 

And even then they died, as Lincoln and Emmet 

died, 
Not for their own kin or for a selfish cause, 
But for humanity. That men may be free. 
Knowing nought of self but denial 
And nought but fulfillment 
Of the higher ideals that inspired you. 
You struck for freedom, failed, and died. 
But Christ, Himself, welcomed you with pride. 



Rhyme The Nineteenth 

I hear a call at dawning 

From the woods that guard the sea; 
It wakes the dreaming dewdrops 

As it wings its way to me. 
With throbbing heart I greet it; 

Ah! 'tis the voice of Thee 
That calls to me at dawning 

From the woods that guard the sea. 

I see a star at evening 

O'er the woods that guard the sea; 
Its smiles of tender kindness 

Shed realms of ecstasy. 
With rapture I behold it; 

Ah! 'tis the soul of Thee 
That smiles to me at evening 

O'er the woods that guard the sea. 



Rhyme The Twentieth 

They wandered away to a garden 

Where roses bloomed fresh and fair; 
He culled a bud from its drooping stem 

And wove it into her hair. 
She heard him tell the olden tale, 

So old, and yet so new, 
And the God of love beamed bright with joy; 

Beamed on the happy two. 

They wandered away to a garden 

Where marble slabs gleamed bright; 
On a tiny grave 'neath a pine tree's shade 

They planted a lily white. 
The pent up tears of sorrowing years 

Broke from each anguished soul, 
And the God of love beamed bright with joy, 

Beamed and collected his toll. 



Rhyme The Twenty-First 

As friends, as lovers, 

Hand in hand we could go through life. 

Bound in affection 

We could face each strife, 

Knowing well our aims would not decay 

Because love wo^ild lead 

And light the darkened way. 

As friends, as lovers, 

The scorn of the world would be as nought 

Compared to the joys that love had brought. 

As friends, as lovers; 

In our hearts a holy voice would chime 

Telling each, "Thou art mine," 

And whispering back the answer, "I am thine." 



Rhyme The Twenty-Second 

Just a little faded rose 

That holds a blissful memorie 
Of one who, every angel knows, 

Is dearer than the world to me. 
Just a little faded rose, 

The fragrance from its petals fled, 
Which while I kiss it tenderly 

Brings wishes I were dead. 



Rhyme The Twenty-Third 

I had a rose that bloomed 

In bright array; 
Through summer's glow and 

Autumn's bronzed wane; 
Till winter's frost unwound 

Its chilling lash 
And with one blow cleft its 

Heart in twain. 
And lo! within that symboled 

Shrine of love, 
Petaled safe from eveiy breath 

But truth, 
I found a pearl and knew 

It could but be 
The kiss that you had left there 

In its youth. 



Rhyme The Twenty-Fourth 



A little pink rose 

That slowly grew, 

Where the air was clear 

And the sky was blue,. 

From a tiny bud 

To majestic bloom, 

Was plucked one day 

By a girl for her room. 

The little pink rose 

Lay snug- and still 

In a painted vase 

On the window sill; 

And often cooed in rose-like glee, 

Oh! how thankful I should be 

To the Fate that has 

Showered its bliss on me, 

And taken me far 

From the rain and wind 

And leaving me here 

Where I may find 

The kiss of a girl 

On my neck at dawn 

Instead of the dew 

Of a summer mom'. 

Her cooling breath 

On my brow all day 

Instead of the 

White sun's scorching ray. 

But the little pink rose 

That slowly grew, 

Where the air was clear 

And the sky was blue, 

Was quick to sicken 

And quicker to die 

When the girl's first kiss 

Was a poisoned lie. 



Rhyme The Twenty-Fifth 

I stood alone in the still dawn 

Beside the casket of a dead boy, 

A boy whose youth had been woven 

Into my manhood. 

J had known the laughter and the joy 

That filled his life. He was my friend. 

I laid my hand on the cold brow, 

Seeking to understand why 

Death should send 

Its never erring messenger into the heart 

That had known no part 

Of life but youth and truth. 

And fancy spoke with fetted breath, 

Beauty is the soul of death. 



Rhyme The Twenty-Sixth 

Goodbye. 

And sweeter 

It would be to say 

Goodbye 

To the world 

And die 

Than say goodbye to thee. 

Sweeter far 

'Twould be 

To die 

Than linger 

Through the years 

Of sighs and tears 

That dreams 

Of thee 

Will weave for me. 

Ah! sweeter love 

'Twould be 

Indeed 

To die 

Whilst thou wer't nigh, 

Knowing thou wouldst 

Come here 

To shed a tear 

Of sorrow 

On my bier. 

Sweeter far to die, 

I say, 

Than stay 

Alone, 

Bereft of thee, 

My own. 

Goodbye. 



Rhyme The Twenty-Seventh 

TO MY MOTHER 

If I could live a thousand lives, 

Each life a thousand years, 
And if each day my soul would breathe 

A thousand smiles and tears, 
They'd be as nought compared to those 

I've seen thee give for me. 
Nor could I love in all my lives 

As I am loved by thee. 



Rhyme The Twenty-Eighth 

So here, good friend, is where we part, 

Moist of eye 

But stout of heart, 

Our trails divide. 
Take you the way that knows the bliss 
Of home and wife 
And happiness, 

Where dreams and love abide. 
And mine the way that lead to deed, 
Where courage thrills 
And brave hearts bleed, 

Where love awaits no man. 
Where I'll meet death on gory bed 
By some poet patriot 
Wildly led 

Into the battle's van. 



Rhyme The Twenty-Ninth 

TO MOORE 

The harp, which you in 

Darkness found, 
Stole back to rest 

When nature stilled 
The hands that sweeping 

O'er its chords 
The heart of prince 

And layman thrilled; 
But our firesides 

Are sacred shrines 
Where your loved spirit 

Lingers yet 
To warble melodies 

That we 
Once hearing never 

Can forget. 



Rhyme The Thirtieth 

You have young and soft 

White arms 
And nectar from your lips 

I'd sip; 
She has but a wrinkled 

Hand 
And parched will be her 

Bridal lip. 

You are loveliness com- 

Bined 
With every virtue God 

Can send; 
That soul if taking flight 

From you 
Would to an Angel beauty 

Lend. 

A million men have marched 

For her 
With eyes aflame and courage 

True; 
A million men have died 

For her, 
And no man died for 

You. 

Her breath is in the moaning 

Breeze, 

Her blood is in the swaying 

Corn. 

Her tears are on the hillsides 

Bare, 



Her eyes are in the stars 

New bom. 

You would press me to your 

Heart 
And incense me with scented 

Breath; 
She will but grip me by the 

Hand 
And lead me on through pain 

To death. 

But here today I take the 

Vow 
To pass you by and take 

For bride 
The withered form and furrowed 

Face, 
Whate'er befall, whate'er 

Betide. 



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